“I have tea, wine, and beer. Or maybe you prefer something heavier?” “You point and I pour,” Timur said. “Oh, I like you. There, by the stereo. Ice is safe, by the way. Made from bottled water.” “God bless.” Timur is in his element at gatherings like this, and Idris cannot help but admire him for the ease of his manners, the effortless wisecracking, the self-possessed charm. He follows Timur to the bar, where Timur pours them drinks from a ruby bottle.
